


I knew right away (Except I didn't)

by mimosa (Error305_Proxy)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Miscommunication, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2018-12-18 21:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11882901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Error305_Proxy/pseuds/mimosa
Summary: “I’m afraid Gary’s soulmark is nearly as unhelpful as mine.” Q laughs, clearly embarrassed. He tugs at the collar of his sweater, and it takes Bond a second to notice the single letter that’s sitting unobtrusively above the quartermaster’s collar bone. “His says ‘Hello agent Venner.’, and well, he must have a dozen people say that to him every day.”“And yet, he’s decided to cozy up to you.” Bond states. He thinks briefly to his own mark of three numbers and how many people address him as “007” every day, thinks back to the first time he heard Q call him by his designation, but decides finally not to raise the point. Their soulmarks don't match, he knows that much.





	1. Chapter 1

Once he set his mind to it, there was never any doubt for Bond that he’d become a double-oh agent. He had always been effective in the field and M seemed to have a soft spot for him. Even though those didn’t necessarily guarantee a spot in the double-oh program, the fact that there is a small “007” on his left torso, an inch under his ribs certainly indicated that he’ll have gotten the designation sooner or later.

They say the fact the first words your soulmate says to you appears on your skin is to help you find each other. The three numbers that Bond has are written in a neat script, simple black strokes with no flourishes to speak of. Bond takes that to mean that his soulmate is not one of the fussy people who embellishes their handwriting for easier identification. 

When he was younger, before he caught wind of the world of espionage, Bond had gotten excited anytime he had to take a number for a queue. It had seemed the most logical way to meet his soulmate. 

After a short stint in the navy, it became Bond’s singular goal to qualify for the double-oh program. Inevitability of time aside, he was keenly aware of the fact that the sooner he received the designation, the sooner he might meet his soulmate. 

It did, however, became quickly apparent that in Bond’s case, the soulmark was not only distinctly unhelpful, but becomes quite a hinderance to his line of work. He diligently covers it up before every mission, and tells the marks he sleeps with that his soulmark never appeared. He accepts the looks of pity and sometimes uses it to his advantage, just another tool of seduction at his disposal.

 

~~

 

He makes note of everybody he meets as a matter of course, because it’s his job. He pays special attention to those that call him by his designation when they first meet, and tries to come up with something clever to say in response. A unique greeting is, after all, the best way to identify your soulmate.

Tanner first met him with a firm handshake and a “007”. Bond looked the man over and said “There’s a stain on your collar”. Tanner had looked embarrassed for a second before laughing, “My wife’s new lipstick.” That had been enough to put the matter to rest in Bond’s mind.

Eve had greeted him with a simple nod and a “007”. He gave her an appreciative once-over and said, “Those heels look like they could kill a man.” She had laughed, but otherwise showed no signs of recognizing the phrase. It wasn’t later that he saw, wrapped around the back of her ankle in atrocious penmanship“Please don’t shoot me, I’m only here to help.”

“He’s a medic.” Eve told him with a smile, “Very sweet, but you know how they are, terrible handwriting.”

Mallory, when they met, and spat out the “007” as if it were a curse. Bond had smiled and drawled, “Just as happy to be see you too, sir”. Mallory had frowned at him, and for a second Bond worried that this man was his soulmate. Thankfully though, he had only scoffed before turning to speak with others.

Vesper hadn’t been his soulmate, despite all his hoping. He wasn’t Vesper’s either, of course. Her mark was on the inside of her thigh, “Let me help you with that” written in in a neat script that does not match Bond’s handwriting. She had given him a wry smile and told him nobody has yet to offer her any help. Of course, when they had found her boyfriend and sent over photos of the body, the words “I can’t believe it took this long for somebody to offer” were curled around his bicep in an elegant cursive that matches with Vesper’s notes. 

Bond had taken one look at the photo and torn it into pieces with a viciousness that surprised even himself.

Q first spoke to him on the phone, “007”, the voice had came through the comms link clearly, cutting through the hazy African afternoon like a cold breeze, “Report on your current status please.” 

Bond took a sip from his drink and drawled lazily, “You sound new.” 

An exasperated sigh on the other side of the line made Bond smile, but no reply came until Bond spoke again, outlining his location and the fact that the target has yet to appear. The mission, despite several hiccups along the way, was completed successfully, and James returned to London. It wasn’t until their meeting in the art gallery that Bond managed to put a face to the voice in his ear. For a brief moment, Bond feels something in his mind click as he’s bantering with Q, as if Britain wasn’t in danger and he didn’t have a care in the world. The world shifts out of order when Q leaves the room without looking back, and Bond shakes his head, “Brave new world”, he mumbles as he takes one last look at the doorway.

 

~~

 

When he’s in London, he goes out for drinks some times with Tanner, Eve, and occasionally, if the boffin deigns to join them, Q. They sit in the pub and trade war stories that get more outrageous as the number of empty glasses pile up. Sometimes he and Eve offer Tanner relationship advice which the man staunchly ignores. Rightfully so. As a rule, field agents are terrible at relationships, he and Eve are no exception.

Q rolls his eyes at him and Eve. But Bond knows he emails Tanner links to gifts that he thinks Mrs. Tanner will enjoy and gets thanked by Bill in the form of free drinks at the pub. Bond would call Q out for it, but Q smiles softly whenever he sees Tanner and his wife or Moneypenny and her doctor, that Bond doesn’t quite have the heart to tease the younger man. 

Something about Q seems to hit directly at Bond’s soft spot, one which he didn’t even know he had. Q has been a constant in his ear during missions, and seems doggedly determined to distract Bond in quiet moments with conversation to “minimize the chances of things blowing up due to boredom”. In the months that they’ve been working together, Bond has ascertained that his quartermaster, in addition to being smart as a whip, is prone to rambling when left to his own devices, and despite all evidence to the contrary, enjoys making terrible jokes and is a hopeless romantic. 

“...and so I told him, it’s not a big dill.” Bond was not at all amused at the pun, but Q’s huff of laughter comes through the earpiece and he can’t help the tug at the corner of his lips due to the other man’s merriment. “Because, well….” 

“I’m quite familiar with how puns work, quartermaster.” James keeps his voice dry, “You needn’t explain your jokes to me.”

“Yes well,” Q clears his throat awkwardly, “Anyway, I think he found it to be just about amusing as you did, and not soulmate material.”

“I’ve been told that’s not how the soulmarks work.” Bond replies evenly as he adjusts the aim on his sniping rifle. “I believe that the general consensus is that the mark will appear on your soulmate regardless of how bad the pun is.”

It’s not the first time that Q has tried a one-liner in the hopes that he’ll find his soulmate. 

He’s not sure what exactly that draws him to the younger man. But through their conversations Bond noted that the quartermaster radiates a quiet loneliness despite his confidence and witty banter. Despite Bond’s feeling of possessiveness that he adamantly does not want examine, he can’t help but hope that the quartermaster finds his soulmate. Sometimes, Bond feels a pang of regret that his own soulmark wasn’t in the form of a pun.

He sometimes leaves the earpiece in when it’s late at night and he can’t sleep, particularly on those missions when he knows it’s daytime in london and Q is working. Most missions require that there be somebody on the other end of the earpiece and more often than not that somebody is Q. The quartermaster seems to have a habit of leaving his side unmuted, Bond doesn’t spend too much time to wonder whether it’s deliberate and instead chooses to let whatever sounds from Q branch wash over him on those late nights. Sometimes there’s nothing that comes through other than the sounds of typing, but even that Bond finds soothing. 

Sometimes Q hums softly to himself. It’s off-key and random and something about it makes Bond’s heart constrict. 

 

~~~

 

Bond finds out about Q’s soulmark after a particularly frustrating mission where all his intel led to dead ends. He flies back to London after more than 76 hours of trekking around the globe, chasing after ghosts. It’s late enough in the evening that hardly anybody is at headquarters anymore, and he stops by Q branch to return his radio after checking in with Tanner.

Q is standing in the middle of his branch talking to an agent. Gary Venner was not a double-oh, but is capable enough as a MI6 agent that he has supported Bond on a number of missions in the past and they have a decent working relationship. Bond has never had reason to dislike the man.

Until now, because Venner’s hand is loosely curled around the quartermaster’s bicep, and Q has a soft smile on his face that has never been directed at Bond. The tableau looks sweet, and Bond has to draw in a deep breath to suppress the sudden surge of anger he feels.

“007, you’re back.” Q turns his head, and almost self-consciously pulls away from Venner, who is smart enough to take one look at Bond’s sour expression and make some hurried excuse to leave, though not before promising that he’ll text Q later.

“It’s good to see MI6 is keeping you busy, Quartermaster.” Bond manages to surprise even himself at how icy he sounds. Q seems equally surprised, particularly as an hour ago they had had a perfectly cordial conversation about the benefits of pairing white wine with pizza through the comms link. 

“Yes well,” Q says finally, with an almost embarrassed shake of his head and a look towards the door where Venner had gone, “Glad to have you back, 007.”

“So you’ve managed to find him then?” Bond asks before he can stop himself, “that’s your soulmate?”

“What? Oh - no.” Q huffs a bit, a shadow passes over his face, “Well, probably not, but I … maybe? I’m not entirely certain.”

“Not. Entirely. Certain.” Bond repeats those three ways slowly and raises an eyebrow.

“I’m afraid Gary’s soulmark is nearly as unhelpful as mine.” Q laughs, clearly embarrassed. He tugs at the collar of his sweater, and it takes Bond a second to notice the single letter that’s sitting unobtrusively above the quartermaster’s collar bone. “His says ‘Hello agent Venner.’, and well, he must have a dozen people say that to him every day.”

“And yet, he’s decided to cozy up to you.” Bond states. He thinks briefly to his own mark and how many people address him as “007” every day, tries to think back to the first time Q had addressed him, but decides finally not to raise the point. The soulmark doesn’t match, he recalls that much. 

“Apparently Gary’s approach is to try and go out with people who could potentially be his soulmate.” Q looks down a moment and shuffles his feet before looking up at Bond again with a shrug, “Which I might not have been opposed to doing myself if i had more free time.”

“Isn’t there a test you can take?” Bond growls. There is. Some complicated piece of science involving blood samples that takes two weeks to get results, but accurate nonetheless.

“Uh, yes.” Q nods and makes a face that Bond can’t interpret, “Gary’s made an appointment with Medical. But um, he wants to go to dinner anyway because, well, two weeks is quite long to wait and -”

“And you said yes.” Bond says. Of course Q said yes. If nothing else, his quartermaster is a romantic at heart and this is the sort of thing that is right up his alley.

“I did.” Q sounds defiant now, “Why shouldn’t I? I don’t work closely with him, there’s no conflict of interest or security risk, he’s handsome and nice and -”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Bond says, “I’m not your mother.”

“I know.” Q mumbles, and something tugs at Bond’s heartstring to see his quartermaster visibly deflate . “I mean, we’re probably not soulmates, but it’s still nice to be taken out.”

“Really quartermaster,” Bond breathes out. He assumes his most relaxed posture and laces his voice with honey, “If I had known that’s what you wanted I would have been happy to take you out to dinner.”

“Oh.” Q narrows his eyes for a moment, scrutinizing Bond as if checking for booby traps, “Yes. I mean, I would like to go to dinner with you, if that was an offer.”

“It was.” Bond pushes as much charm as he can into those words and takes a step closer to Q, “Whenever we’re both free.”

“Tomorrow?” Q asks with a grin, “I mean, Gary said he’d take me out on Wednesday and it’d be nice to get the practice in before then. That only leaves tomorrow and the day after, and I’m supposed to be on comms the day after for 005 till late.”

“To get the practice in.” Bond manages to ask a question with a statement.

“Oh, um -” Q pauses, “Well, I haven’t really been on dates with field agents, and you’re all very fancy. I don’t think I’ve been in a restaurant that takes reservations in years.” Q gives a self-deprecating laugh as he talks, his words picking up speed as they are prone to do when he starts to ramble. “I thought, we could go to dinner and you can tell me about all the stupid things I do during the meal, and maybe I wouldn’t embarrass myself when I'm with Gary.”

“Indeed.” Bond feels like a bucket of cold water has been poured on him, but he shakes it off. “Not afraid to embarrass yourself in front of me, are you?”

 

Q laughs, “I dare say there’s nothing I can do that will embarrass me more than the rambling I already do when I try to occupy the airwaves during your missions.” He takes another look at Bond before starting again, “If you’re not comfortable. I mean, I could ask Eve or -”

“Tomorrow will be fine.” Bond interrupts before Q’s thoughts run any further and Bond himself says something he will regret. “Do take care to wear something that won’t get us kicked out of the Cannaught.”

Bond ignores the indignant noise that comes from behind him as he walks away from Q, thoughts already spinning on dinner for the next evening.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite his earlier confidence, Bond spends considerable time in the next 16 hours pulling as many strings as he can and cashes in a considerable number of favours owed to get Q and him a table at Hélène Darroze’s restaurant. Getting the reservations themselves were a feat well worth celebrating, and doing so without alarming Mallory, Tanner, or Moneypenny took herculean effort. 

He strolls into Q branch at six thirty in that one Tom Ford suit he knows brings out his eyes, and suppresses a sigh at the sight of Q, in that earth-toned cardigan he seems to be fond of and with no signs of finishing work any time soon.

“Q.” Bond calls out as he walks towards the terminal where Q is standing, “Did I miss a memo? Is the country falling apart?”

“What?” Q spares one look to Bond before going back to his monitor, “Oh. Excuse my tardiness 007, I’m just finishing up on a bit of coding and then we can go. Sorry about that, I guess I’m not really making a good impression if I’m late -”

“Q.” Bond sighs. Endearing as the quartermaster’s penchant for rambling is when coding, it is decidedly not serving Bond’s purpose at the moment, “Even with all my connections, the Cannaught will not hold a table for more than 15 minutes.”

Q nods and makes the appropriate hums to indicate acknowledgement, but his fingers never slow and his eyes don’t leave the monitor. 

“I will carry you out of here if I have to.” Bond growls, taking another step closer.

“Very well then.” Q manages to almost step back gracefully as Bond moves forward, “There. I’ll just leave this bit of unfinished code on the computer, is that what you want, 007? I’ll just go to dinner now I suppose and leave the bloody work to -”

“To your underlings, yes.” Bond ignores the resentful look Q gives him and picks up Q’s jacket in one smooth motion. He holds it up for the quartermaster to slip into and has to forcibility resist the urge to grin at the younger man’s look of confusion.

“Oh, right.” Q seems to have finally snapped out of whatever stupor he was in while coding, and has the decency to look well embarrassed, “Apologies, I’ll just …” he trails off, and reaches out tentatively to grab the jacket.

Bond frowns and makes a discouraging sound. Q’s hand stops midair and his eyes widen. “You don’t have to do that.” Q mutters as he finally catches on and turns so he can slip into the jacket while Bond is holding it. 

“Despite what you might think, I promise you agents are trained to be courteous.” Bond says. He runs his hands along Q’s shoulder to smooth out invisible wrinkles in a wool peacoat and stops himself before he can make a comment about how skinny the younger man is.

“Ta.” Q ducks his head as he turns to look at Bond, “Should we get going?” The quartermaster asks the question as if Bond had been the one holding them up all along.

Bond drives with a casual disregard for speed limits that is afforded by the MI6 license plate. Q was quiet on the way to the garage, but seems to come back to life after getting in the car. 

“Are we really going to the Cannaught?” Q asks, sounding skeptical. 

“Yes.” Bond pauses, “Nothing but the best for my quartermaster.”

Q is quiet for a minute, then laughs quietly, “I don’t think that’s where Gary is going to take me.” 

Maybe you shouldn’t go out with Gary then. Bond wants to say. Instead, he hums noncommittally and applies more pressure than is strictly safe on the gas pedal. 

“I hear the wine list is excellent.” Q breathes out after it becomes clear Bond isn’t going to express himself with words. “Can’t wait.”

“For those of us old enough to drink, yes.” Bond says with a smirk, glad to be dropping the other line of conversation. “Though I’m sure I can convince them to make an exception.”

They pull up to the front door just as Q opens his mouth for a response, but the words are cut off as a valet opens the door for Q. The younger man huffs and steps out of the car.

There is no official dress code for the Cannaught, but as they make their way into the restaurant, various people in suits and gowns turn to give Q disapproving looks. Bond glowers half a step behind Q and manages to appear menacing enough that most look away quickly.

Q is oblivious to the attention and sits down at their table with a happy sigh. He opens the menu without looking around, and Bond reminds himself that not everybody is a field agent who needs to scan their surroundings for possible threats every time they sit down at a restaurant. 

“You should have at least looked to see where exits are.” Bond admonishes quietly as he reaches for his own menu.

“Why? You’re here.” Q says without looking up from the menu. 

“When you go out with Venner.” Bond says after taking a beat to reflect on the amount of trust Q seems to place in him. “Or anybody else.” he spits out as an afterthought.

Q looks up from his menu with a frown, “You realize, 007, that Gary is a field agent in MI6 who’s more than capable of protecting me.” The quartermaster pauses, then adds, “There’s mandatory safety training for all department heads in MI6, you needn’t fret.”

“I’ve seen Venner in the field.” Bond says, “You have too much faith in him.”

“Yet I notice that you make no mention of my faith in you, 007.” Q says with a smile, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to sit with my back to a wall and map out all the exits when I go out with Gary.”

You won’t have to do this if you go out with me. Bond wants to say, but somehow the words seem to get stuck in his throat.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Bond found himself at in the unfamiliar situation of not having to banter or seduce. The constant flow of words between them had always been rather one-sided, with Q talking about whatever happened to be on his mind in between giving crisp directions. Now, as Q sits opposite of him, it seemed suddenly that any topic Bond could think of was too trivial.

“You’re quiet.” Bond opts to say, and regrets it almost immediately when Q’s face morphs into a look of guilt.

“Sorry, I’m -” Q flounders for a bit, his right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a second before settling again in his lap, “I’m feeling a bit awkward, as it is, being here with you when I’m supposed to be going to dinner with somebody else soon.”

“How many people have you met that could be your soulmate?” Bond asks, choosing to ignore Q’s comment. 

“Four,” Q says, then frowns for a minute, “No, five.”

“Did you ask any of them about their mark?”

“A few.” Q says reluctantly, “You know, it’s not supposed to be that both people’s marks are so vague. Usually if one person’s mark is vague then the other’s is very specific. I suppose it’s nature’s way of compensating and finding balance.” Q pauses, then frowns again, “Though of course you’d be getting into a discussion about the whole issue of free-will versus the deterministic nature of the soul marks. There’s a theory that the soulmarks are a reflection of the personal choice to -”

A waiter walks over and Q stops talking abruptly. They both look down at the menu, having not had the chance to read it. They manage to order without too much drama, though Q had seemed to be somewhat perplexed at the menu offerings. The waiter rattles off the suggested wine pairings with each of the dish they order, and Bond nods his approval while taking in Q’s slightly widened eyes. 

Bond leans back into his seat again after the waiter leaves, assuming a relaxed posture. He extends his leg under the table until his foot is resting comfortably next to Q’s. 

“Who are these five soulmate candidates?” Bond asks when it becomes apparent that Q isn’t going to say anything else on the subject of soulmarks.

“Why? Are you going to look into them?” Q narrows his eyes, “Because I can assure you I’ve done background checks on them and -”

“Just curious, quartermaster.” Bond interrupts in his most non-threatening voice. “I do believe this is what friends do. They look out for each other.”

“Oh, well - ” Q flushes, and licks his lips before continuing, “I suppose.” He takes a deep breath before continuing, “there’s Gary, of course. Um, Joshua Durce from HR, Amelia Jones from accounting, Ted in my branch.” 

“I might be rusty with mathematics, quartermaster,” Bond leans forward again, “but I do believe that’s four.”

“And you, I guess.” Q says in a too deliberate nonchalant voice. His hands start fidgeting almost right away. 

“Can’t be me.” Bond says, “What I said to you when we first spoke doesn’t match your mark.”

Q shifts in his seat and runs his hand through his hair, a habit for when he’s nervous. “Actually, that wasn’t really our first time meeting.”

“I’m quite certain I would have remembered meeting you previously.” Bond says, choosing his words carefully.

“It was three years, almost four years ago.” Q says, his words coming out in a rapid flow, “I wasn’t Q back then, but you were looking for him. At least, I think you were. I was in the research lab and you barged in. I um - I was in a hazmat suit and you must have thought I was Q or something so you started talking to me.” Q ducks his head, as if it were his fault that Bond couldn’t remember this, “Boothroyd found you before I could say anything.”

“The first thing you said to me was ‘007’.” Bond says, wheels spinning in high gear now, “During that godforsaken mission while we were on comms.”

“Yeah.” Q laughs ruefully, “I tried to speak to you before that, but there never seemed to be a good time, and it wasn’t as if I could begin our working relationship with a bad pun.”

I wish you had. Bond nearly says, but what comes out is perhaps even worse. “We need to go somewhere else.”

“Uh -” Q at a loss for words is a rare occasion, and under any other circumstances Bond would have probably enjoyed the look on Q’s face. But now, all he can think of is his soulmark, as if it’s burning just below his ribs. He thinks back to Q’s mark and tries to determine whether it had been in his own handwriting, but the single letter is too nondescript, and even with the most optimistic wishful thinking, Bond can’t confirm whether it matches his handwriting. 

I think you’re my soulmate. Bond wants to say, the words sitting at the tip of his tongue. He stands up abruptly and motions for Q to do the same. Bond throws too many bills onto the table to cover both the cost of their yet to be prepared meals and the abruptness of their departure. 

It speaks to the trust in their relationship that Q follows him without any fuss. More scandalized looks as they walk of the restaurant, a waiter comes their way, but something in Bond’s face manages to stop the man in his tracks.

“007.” Q says once they’ve gotten out of the restaurant, but Bond is too busy with his thoughts to respond. To the valet’s credit, their car is waiting for them outside the front door, and they both slip into the car without any words.

“007. What is the situation?” Q asks again tensely once they started driving. “Are we being followed? Should I call in?”

It only then dawns on Bond that of course Q thinks there’s a hostile situation developing. 

“There’s no situation.” Bond states calmly, though he can feel the familiar rush of adrenaline and does not ease up on the gas pedal. “We just needed to be elsewhere.”

“Where is that, exactly?” Q asks, he doesn’t sound upset yet, though there’s an edge to his voice that Bond is familiar with. He heard it often on missions.

Bond is saved from answering because he’s pulling into his garage, and Q makes a noise that’s a mix of surprise and frustration. Bond knows the quartermaster recognizes the area, his address is listed on the MI6 servers with very little encryption.

“You’ve brought me to your flat.” Q says drily. There’s a hint of disbelief behind his words that Bond chooses to ignore.

“I need to show you something.” Bond says. He leads them to his door, and is grateful that the quartermaster follows without too much fuss.

“If that’s a line, it’s a terrible one.” Q says, but enters Bond’s flat anyway when the agent opens the door for him.

“It’s not a line.” Bond says as he flips the lights, “And it’s not terrible.”

“Alright, show me then.” Q turns to face Bond after a cursory look around the room. There’s not much to look at, just the standard fixings that MI6 furnishes its employees with.

Bond takes off his suit jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Q raises an eyebrow, “Are you quite sure it’s not a line? Because it’s starting to look like -”

The rest of the sentence is cut off when Bond turns slightly, his soulmark visible to the quartermaster.

“I don’t suppose you recognize the handwriting?” Bond asks quietly.

“It’s -” Q takes a step forward unconsciously and stretches his hand, his fingers nearly brushing against Bond’s skin but not quite. “I - I can’t be sure.”

“Can’t be sure of yours, either.” Bond sighs, “Just a letter. Not much to work with.”

“Well it’s hardly my fault.” Q drops his hand limply by his side and takes a small step back.

“That test from Medical.” Bond starts as he lets his shirt drop, not bothering with the buttons, “How accurate is it exactly?”

“Hard to say the exact accuracy.” Q says, “Given that different people have different interpretations of what soulmates are -”

“Q.” Bond interrupts the younger man before he can start an academic lecture. “You must know the statistics.”

“Over 98% confirmed by the test as soulmates stay together in some compatible fashion.” Q rattles off almost mechanically, “Which is more than double that of couples who are not soulmates and does not have a statistically significant difference from those that are soulmates as confirmed by their soulmarks only.”

“So it’s accurate.” Bond confirms.

“Yes.” Q replies. “If Medical already has your blood sample on file, I can order the test.”

Bond nods, feeling as if his world just shifted.


	3. Chapter 3

Not since he was twelve and was trying to put his hand up the skirt of one of the fixth form girls was Bond so painfully aware of his own awkwardness. 

He and Q stood near his front door, silently staring at each other. Bond was running through options as if he were on an op, does he invite Q to stay? Should he drive Q home? What about dinner? Is it appropriate now for them to have sex? What about to kiss? What if he just reached out and - 

“So. I believe I was promised food at some point in the evening.” Q says, and as always, his crisp words manage to pierce through Bons thoughts. 

“I don’t keep food in the house.” Bond replies almost automatically. He wants to kick himself for how stupid he sounds the moment the words leave his mouth. 

It’s as if knowing the possibility that Q might be his soulmate has completely turned off any ability that he may have once possessed to be any semblance of charming.

“Takeaway?” Q suggests, pulling out his phone already without waiting for any response, “I have a few good places on my phone. Not sure if they would deliver here though.”

Is it really possible that the younger man standing in front of him, with his wild hair and sharp angles, his witty retorts and offkey humming, could be his soulmate? Bond had always lamented the fact that his soulmark seemed to indicate otherwise. But now that he knows …

“Do you mind curry? Only I feel like this is the kind of night that I’d like a drink or two and curry goes well with beer.” Q says, he’s still not looked up from his phone, and it seems like is continuing with his choices without input from Bond.

Now that he knows there’s a possibility that he and Q might be soulmates, it seems ridiculous that they wouldn’t be. Bond feels a staunch certainty that however coincidental their soulmarks are, it must indicate that they are indeed soulmates. Somehow in the last 20 minutes he has stepped from a world where he and Q couldn’t possibly have been soulmates to a world where it was impossible that they were not. It feels as if he had not realized his world was tilted until suddenly it was straightened for him.

Only, nothing has changed of course, because Q is looking at his phone and tapping on the screen occasionally, Bond himself is standing quite still, and it wasn’t until he pulls himself back into the awareness that he notes he is incredibly tense, his heart is beating much faster than it should for just standing still, and his mouth feels dry.

He walks over to his liquor cabinet and pours two fingers of scotch for himself, pauses, then doubles the amount in the glass. He goes to the fridge and finds a bottle of beer sitting next to half a bottle of Perrier and fishes both out for Q.

“You want to order?” Q asks, looking up and nodding to the beer. 

“You can.” Bond manages to say. He pours the beer into a glass and hands it to Q. He tries not to let his hand linger too long when their fingers brush.

“Getting you a thali with rogan josh.” Q says, “If I remember correctly, you like lamb.”

It’s a statement and Q is not looking for confirmation, so Bond doesn’t bother. He sips his scotch and watches as Q finishes up ordering on the phone.

“Put that on my card.” Bond says as it looks like Q is finishing up.

“I already ordered on mine.” Q shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s alright. I can get this and you can get the the expensive meals.”

“Not exactly a fair deal.” Bond says. He takes a step forward, but stops when Q takes half a step back.

“Oh, you don’t have to.” Q’s hands wave when he speaks, as they tend to when the quartermaster gets flustered, “I was only poking fun.”

“So was I.” Bond says. 

“Oh, right.” Q sighs, “Sorry. I knew that, I just -”

“You don’t have to stay if being here makes you nervous.” Bond interrupts. He’s seen marks like this in the field before. Nervous and fidgety, almost ready to bolt out the door at the first loud noise. In the field, Bond is used to employing his unique mix of charm and seduction to calm his marks. But doing that to Q sees wrong. They’re soulmates, Bond knows to be true despite the lack of compelling evidence. Soulmates should not have to be seduced.

“I’m not nervous.” Q says. He stuffs his hands into his pockets forcefully, probably to prevent further fidgeting. 

“Q.” Bond sighs, “I’ve cocked this up, haven’t I? Probably would have been better if we stayed at the restaurant and I told you afterwards? Or is the thought that we may be soulmates making you upset?”

“Well…” Q shrugs again, lowering his eyes to look down at his feet. There’s a long pause as he seems to be choosing his words more carefully than usual, “This is going to make me feel a lot more awkward tomorrow at dinner with Gary.”

“You’re still going to that then?” Bond can’t really help the icy edge that develops in his voice. It is only years of training that prevents him from clenching his fists.

“I -” Q looks up, eyes wide and uncertain, “I thought -”

“That’s fine.” Bond says. He uses the cover of putting down his glass as an excuse to turn around and close his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. His response had been too quick to be taken at face value, and he berates himself silently for letting emotions get too out of hand.

“We haven’t confirmed…” Q starts and trails off, then starts again after a pause, “In theory, it’s equally likely that him and I could -”

Q stops himself before he can finish the sentence, and Bond is thankful for that. He wants to shake the other man and ask him how he could be blind to the chemistry between them, how it’s possible that he’s experiencing such strong feelings and Q seems to not be feeling anything. He can’t think what would compel Q to believe that Venner could be equally compatible, but any thoughts in that direction makes his heart ache like it hasn’t since his M died.

Instead, he turns around slowly, his face neutral, his muscles relaxed, “It’s alright, you don’t need to justify your decisions to me.” he says evenly, “If you think it’s the right thing to do, I’m sure it is.” After all the years in the field, Bond think this might be greatest lie he’s ever told.

Their dinner arrives without much fanfare, they sit at his rarely used dining table and eat in silence. Q keeps throwing him furtive looks, but Bond feels he doesn’t have the energy to make small talk. 

For a while Q tried to talk about the latest development in technology, and while Bond nods and makes interested noises at all the appropriate times, it is painfully obvious that neither of them have their hearts in the conversation. Q gives up after a while, and they finish their food in near silence.

Q calls a car from MI6 to drive him home. Bond doesn’t protest despite the fact that he really should be the one getting Q back. 

Q pauses at the door and says, “This was different than I imagined, but I’m glad it happened.” 

Bond nods. 

Q leaves. Bond stands at the window and watches as the quartermaster slip into the black sedan.

He roots himself in place so he doesn’t chase after Q and makes even more of a fool out of himself. After the car drives down the block and turn out of sight, he retrieves the bottle of scotch and goes to sit on the couch. As he drinks, Bond imagines a burning sensation coming from his soulmark. He images it’s still there when he passes out just as the sun rises.


	4. Chapter 4

Bond goes from unconscious to fully alert in a split second and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The hangover is horrendous, and passing out on the couch hasn’t done any favours for his back or his neck.

It used to be he could drink a bottle of scotch and sleep anywhere, then wake up and be ready for a mission.

The inevitability of time, he thinks.

Except of course that thought leads him back to Q, and that’s not really a path he wants to go down right now, so he forces himself to stand up, take two aspirins, and shower. He turns the water as hot as he can stand it. Relishing in the luxury of being able to take a hot shower without worrying about somebody tracking him down in a hotel somewhere. It’s the little things he misses when he’s on missions.

He drives to MI6 on an empty stomach and throws himself into his exercise routine with vigor. He stops to eat a quick lunch and guzzles so much coffee that he feels as if every cell in his body is vibrating all at once. 

He burns off all the energy by the late afternoon, and is left only with a fatigue that makes his body feel hollow and brittle. He tries not to keep track of the time, but as dinner time gets closer he finds himself growing more and more restless.

He’s in the garage and on his way out of MI6 when he spots Q and Venner. He tells himself that he did not time his exit to coincide with bumping into them, but can’t manage to buy the lie. They’re walking towards Venner’s car, and Bond sneers at the fact the other agent doesn’t seem to have noticed him.

He doesn’t mean to follow them, but somehow ends up tailing the other car nonetheless. As he’s stopped at a red light behind Venner, he notes to himself that he should put in Venner’s file that the agent is unobservant and careless, not to be trusted with the safety of the quartermaster of MI6. 

He mentally strikes out the last part as he watches Venner park and the two of them get out of the car.

Bond parks as well, but remains sitting in the car. He lets the sounds of rush hour traffic wash over him as he contemplates what his next step should be.

It seems like a breech of privacy if he follows them into - Bond looks again at the establishment that Venner led Q into - The Heart and Crown. He should let the two of them alone and go home, wait for Q to contact him if the test result amount to anything.

He finds himself slipping into the pub even as he’s thinking about how angry Q would be if he found out Bond was tailing them.

The pub is dark and loud and Bond remains easily undetected despite the fact that he’s wearing three piece when almost every other person seems to be comfortable in joggers and t-shirts. He spots Q and Venner in the back, and smirks when he sees that Q has taken the seat facing the door. It turns into a frown a second later when he realizes that Q is not actually paying attention to the entrance, which defeats the whole purpose of having view of it.

Instead, Q is talking animatedly. Bond takes the opportunity to order a drink for himself and walk to a dark corner of the pub without being noticed.

There’s a rugby game on the television, and the crowd in the pub gets rowdy as various events unfold on the screen. Bond can’t eavesdrop on the conversation with all the noise, but the nice thing about the quartermaster having clear diction is that it makes him an easy target for lipreading. 

By now, Bond has mastered the art of surveillance. Don’t stare at your target directly, don’t look for too long, blend in, don’t call attention to yourself. And yet, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Q. In the dim light of the pub, Q seems to be a glowing focal point. His hands are moving constantly when he talks, and his hair falls in front of his eyes as his head moves. Q brushes it back carelessly, a motion so habitual that it requires no thought. Bond wonders what the quartermaster’s hair feels like, then he wonders what the quartermaster’s fingers would feel like, brushing through his own cropped hair.

Bond takes a sip of his beer, it’s watery and a tad too warm. He watches as Q takes a sip of his beer and frown at the taste. He watches as Q is apparently trying to explain a complicated IT project and is rapidly getting more frustrated at the lack of comprehension from Venner. 

He watches as Q sighs, and switches topics. He watches Q’s lips move, “How was your day, agent?”

He watches as Q nods and smiles and is obviously becoming disengaged from the conversation regardless of what Venner must be saying. At various points Q seems to forget that he doesn’t like the beer and reach for it to take a sip, only to frown and push it away immediately after. This happens three or four times before Q huffs in frustration and pushes the beer all the way across the table.

Venner takes it and drinks it, and must manage to say something clever because Q lets out a genuine laugh.

Bond glowers and takes a gulp from his glass.

He watches as Q is interrupted in his speech whenever something happens on the television. Venner seems to be a rugby fan, and while he’s not obnoxious in his desire to watch the game, he does let his head turn towards the screen if the crowd shouts or screams. In those moments, Q humphs and sits back, sometimes throwing a glance towards the entrance, sometimes steals quick glances at his watch.

Bond wants to walk over and knock some sense into Venner. How could he not be paying attention to the brilliant young man in front of him? If it were Bond sitting there - 

He stops himself before that train of thought can go too far. It’s not Bond sitting there, so no point dwelling on it.

The game reaches intermissions, and Bond feels a surge of happiness when he sees Q ask if Venner wants to leave.

“I have an early morning mission, I’m afraid.” Bond watches Q lie beautifully. Q has nothing on his schedule tomorrow morning, Bond knows this for a fact.

Bond slips out the fire exit in the back, banking on the fact that an establishment in such caliber as this would not have an armed fire alarm. The fire door opens when he pushes, and no alarm is set off.

Out of habit, he closes the door quietly behind him, but stops in his track when he sees the familiar shadow of the two people he’s been tailing for the evening. Q is leaning against the brick wall, Venner standing much too close. 

Bond reaches for his gun.

He would have fired, except Q’s hand is cupping Venner’s face and his other hand is holding Venner’s waist - 

Except no, it’s not. He takes another look and wonders how he could have missed it the first time. Q’s hand is not cupping Venner’s face, it’s wrapped around the agent’s throat. His other hand is holding a gun which happens to be pushed against Venner’s stomach.

“If you do that again, I will end you.” Bond hears Q hiss. 

Bond wants to applaud his quartermaster, but feels like somehow it would be inappropriate. For a second, Bond contemplates shooting Venner anyway, not to kill of course, only to maim.

In the brief second it takes for Bond to decide against that course of action, a clear gunshot is fired. Bond raises his gun, but it’s too dark and both Venner and Q are moving and there’s no clear shot.

Bond watches Q duck and fire his gun at the same time. The quartermaster looks so lethal that Bond almost forgets to react. 

But years of muscle training has him well conditioned, and he’s moving forward with his gun drawn before Q has a chance to fire a second shot.

“Stay here, I’m in pursuit.” Venner shouts as he’s drawing his gun and running off. Bond growls and seriously contemplates shooting him in frustration.

In the corner of his eye, Bond sees Q lower his gun slowly. He doesn’t miss the fact that Q’s arm is shaking slightly. 

“Nice shot.” He says, there’s a body at the end of the alley. Somehow nobody has stopped and gathered around it, the noise inside must have drawn out the gunshot. They’re lucky that there were no passerbys. 

Although, not lucky. Likely it was planned that way. Bond feels a chill down his back. If he hadn’t been there...

“MI6 will be pleased to know that the firearms training is not for nothing.” Q replies drily and pulls Bond away from his thoughts. If he’s surprised that Bond is here, he does well at hiding it.

“The wanker shouldn’t have left you here.” Bond says. His gun is trained towards the body and he’s moving slowly and carefully. He passes by Q but doesn’t let himself glance away.

“No, he shouldn't have.” Q says. “Dead?”

“Dead.” Bond says after a beat. He takes the gun away from the body, tucking it into his own holster. “Did you activate your signal?”

Q nods. “Containment team should be on their way.”

“Good.” Bond says. He doesn’t put away his gun, and neither does Q.

“You brought your gun with you.” Bond says, he surreptitiously places himself so that Q is blocked off from the entrance of the alley. Q shoots him an unimpressed look, so maybe he isn’t being so surreptitious after all.

“I always do.” 

“You didn’t yesterday.” Bond is not really sure why he feels the urge to point this out.

“I don’t particularly enjoy carrying firearm.” Q sighs, he looks down briefly at the gun and wrinkles his nose. Bond finds it adorable despite the situation they’re in. “So I don’t when I don’t have to. And certainly I don’t need it when I’m with you.”

“That’s stupid.” Bond says even as he feels a flush of warmth wash over him at the implied trust, “You should always have your gun with you.”

“What am I going to do with a gun if you can’t manage to stop whatever is coming?” Q retorts almost angrily. 

“We should move. Staying here is not safe.” Bond chooses to change the subject instead of engaging. Q is probably still pumped up on adrenaline, and now is not the time to have a conversation about misplaced trust in field agents and worst case scenarios. He reaches to put his hands around Q’s bicep. They’re too closed in, it’s too dark, too many angles for snipers. He doesn’t like it.

“I’m not leaving a body on the street, we have to wait for containment.” Q pulls a little, though doesn’t break their contact. “What if somebody walks by and sees a dead body?”

“And what are you going to do? Pretend it’s your friend who got pissed in the pub?” Bond asks, and pulls on Q’s arm again. “I’m driving you back to HQ, you can alert the police that MI6 is handling the situation.”

Q lets himself be pulled into Bond’s car without a word, but Bond can sense the tension radiating off of the quartermaster. 

“Glad you made the car bullet proof?” Bond tries to make conversation.

There’s an uncharacteristic silence from Q, so Bond looks over. The quartermaster's lips are pressed into a tight line, he’s still holding the gun in his hands and staring intently at it. Bond is somewhat relieved to see that the safety has been flicked on.

“What happened with Venner?” Bond asks.

“Apparently decided that one bad beer was enough to get handsy.” Q said. He lets out a hollow laugh, “Good lord, what I wouldn’t give to have that be my biggest problem this evening.”

“Should have shot him.” Bond growls. Q doesn’t respond, the quartermaster has gone back to staring at the gun.

Bond gets a flashback of sitting in the shower, his arms around Vesper. 

“First time killing?” Bond asks. 

“No.” Q jerks. Then, after a long pause he adds, “But it doesn’t make it easier.”

Slowly, Bond moves his hand off the gear shift and places it over Q’s forearm with a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t get any response, but Q doesn’t move away, so Bond keeps his hand there.

He drives somewhat recklessly, not being able to shift gear or slow down too much without stalling the car. A trail of angry honks follow them as they speed their way through London.

“At some point you’ll have to use both hands to drive, 007.” Q says crisply as Bond takes a turn a little too fast. 

“We’ll see.” Bond replies.

“Don’t be stupid.” Q moves his arm, and Bond feels the quartermaster grab his hand and forcibly put it on top the gear, “I don’t want to die in a car crash. What a boring death that would be.”

“Thanks.” Q says softly after a while.

Bond moves his hand off the gear again and puts it on top of Q’s. Neither of them speaks for the rest of the drive.

They park and Bond turns off the ignition. The MI6 garage is not impregnable, but it is safe enough that Bond doesn’t mind them lingering for a moment. 

He leans over slowly when Q makes no move to get out of the car. The kiss he presses on the quartermaster's temple is soft. He breathes in the scent of the younger man, something woodsy mingled with the tang of gunpowder. 

He draws back just as Q turns to face him, and Bond finds being on the end of an evaluating look. Q tilts his head and frowns slightly, and Bond thinks that this is probably one of the only times he’s seen his quartermaster look anything other than completely in control. The younger man looks perplexed.

But Q shakes it off quickly. Bond watches as the quartermaster’s face slips into the familiar look of closed off professionalism. 

Except, Q reaches out and gives Bond’s hand a squeeze before he slips out the car. Bond follows him wordlessly, something warm unfurling in his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been away forever. Life got in the way of things. I am back.

The MI6 safehouses are a ways away from HQ, it’s a good hour-long drive with no traffic, Bond is determined to get them there in 30 minutes.

“Aren’t you going a little fast?” Q asks after they narrowly miss an oncoming truck in Bond’s haste to weave in and out of lanes.

“Not fast enough if it means you’re not at the safehouse.” Bond growls. “I’m sure M has flagged the plate with the proper departments.”

“That’s not the point.” Q mutters. He shakes his head as Bond takes a particularly sharp turn “I can’t tell if you’re showing off.”

“You know my skills better than anybody at MI6.” Bond says, resisting the urge to preen “I hardly need to show off to you.”

Q hums in agreement, and Bond resists the urge to take another sharp turn just to feel the Quartermaster’s fingers dig into his leg. It would probably be considered unprofessional.

“I should be doing something.” Q lets out a frustrated breath, “Not just sitting here-”

“You know protocol,” Bond says, “communications blackout until we reach the safehouse.” 

“I know, but - “ 

Whatever Q is going to say is interrupted by Bond’s soft swearing.

“We’re being followed.” Bond says, his eyes never leaving the road, “I’m driving too recklessly for those cars behind us to be civilian.”

“Cars?” Q twists his body and cranes his neck in an attempt to see out the back windshield, Bond pushes him back roughly.

“Don’t need to be giving them a target, Quartermaster.” Bond warns. He commends himself for taking his hand away from Q without too much lingering.

“Sorry.” Q mumbles, “I don’t suppose I could help? I’m rather useless without my laptop and phone, but I’ve got my gun on me still. ”

“At some point, you’ll have to take the wheel.” Bond says. Their car is unmarked, he traded in his flashy one for a nondescript MI6 issue, which means whoever is following them has really done their homework. LIkely that means the safehouse is no longer safe. There are two other locations he could take Q that may remain uncompromised, but of course none of that matters if they can’t get out of the chase unscathed.

“I can do that.” Q says, “I have to warn you though, I can’t quite drive the way you do.”

“Just don’t crash into anything and you’ll be fine.” Bond says, he takes repeated glaces in the rear-view mirror, and finally decides that whatever odds he calculates is not going to be as effective as just trusting his instinct. “I’ll need you to take over in three.”

He rolls down the driver’s side window and leans out of the car, not bothering to look back to see if Q has got the wheel. The fact that they don’t crash boosts his confidence in his Quartermaster's driving skills.

Three shots and he takes out the front tire of one of the car, but can see there are two more gaining fast. He pulls back into the car just as one of the pursuers gets particularly ambitious and is close enough for Bond to get a good look.

Q takes a right turn into a rather narrow alley, Bond hears the side mirror scrape against the brick wall and come off, and pull his arm in just in time to avoid it meeting the same fate.

“A little warning next time, Quartermaster.” Bond says, silently impressed at the way Q is handling the car. He’s not sure how well he can do if he were leaning in from the passenger’s seat, but he’d wager not that much better.

“Yes wel,” Q gives a little shrug and looks into the rear-view. Nobody seems to be following them, which surprises Bond. The turn was sharp, but not so sharp that none of their pursuers could have made it.

“They’re not following us.” Q echos Bond’s concern. “And they weren’t shooting earlier.”

“Venner was in one of those cars.” Bond says, his mind going over a thousand possible scenarios at once. He takes over the wheel, and Q leans back into the passenger’s seat, letting his head drop back against the headrest.

“Gary?” Q frowns, “You don’t think he’s been compromised.”

“I wouldn’t rule anything out.” Bond replies carefully. He’s probably a little biased, but Gary Venner seems like the kind of person that could be despicable enough to turn on MI6.

“I ran a background check on him before -” Q falters, “before I went out with him. He seemed clean. A little boring and too into rugby, a little internet gambling on occasion, but nothing incriminating.”

“How deep did you dig?” Bond asks. 

“Deep enough to go to dinner with him.” Q replies and runs his hand through his hair, somehow making it even more of a mess. 

“You went to dinner with him with a gun.” Bond scoffs, “It’s decidedly not increasing my confidence in him.”

“We need to get in touch with M.:” Q says, sounding more frustrated with each passing second, “They need to know.”

“After we get somewhere safe, we can think about checking in.” Bond reaches over and puts his hand over Q’s, and is pleased when it isn’t brushed off. 

Q lets out a hollow laugh and closes his eyes in resignation, “If it’s any consolation Bond, I really don’t think Venner could be my soulmate.”

“I could have told you that.” Bond says, not quite able to resist the urge.

“Yes well…” Q exhales softly, and turns slightly so that they are staring at each other through the rear review mirror, he smiles softly at Bond, “ Now I know.”

“We could be something.” Bond says, unable to stop himself.

He looks over just in time to see Q’s soft gaze turn into a look of horror.

...

...

...

...

...

...

 

James Bond has done many things during his career with the MI6, and he maintains that being in a car crash is one of the most disorienting experience one could have.

First, there’s the noise, which if by itself weren’t disorienting enough, there’s always the added smell of gas and smoke, the unfortunate sensation of broken glass everywhere, and the airbags. 

Airbags may save lives, but they are not in the least bit pleasant to encounter. 

He takes a second to orient himself. They has been hit from his side as they were driving out of the alley, and he remembers the car spinning. It seems they had come to stop about half a block away, the car is nearly totalled, and there will be no more driving in it. The smoke coming out of the hood is worrying, but does not pose an immediate threat. No broken bones, though his ribs might be cracked. Perhaps a fracture on his left arm where the door has been dented and is digging into him. Nothing he can’t handle. He’s glad it’s his side that got hit and not Q’s, because the boffin would hate to have his arm out of commission.

He looks over and feels his heart nearly stop at the sight of the empty passenger seat. The window is cracked from the inside with splatters of blood on it. Q must have hit his head. 

The seatbelt has been cut, and when Bond reaches over the seat still feels slightly warm. They couldn’t have gotten far then. 

He gets out of the car just in time to see a black jeep peeling away. It turns half a block down, and seems to purposefully drive pass Bond. He reaches for his gun, but stops himself from firing when he sees the person through the car window. 

Q looks unconscious, his head hanging limp, but there’s no clear shot into the car, and Bond lowers the gun a fraction to shoot the tires. 

He misses all five shots and swears, watches as the jeep drives out of range. He looks around, sees a motorcycle parked on the side of the road, and doesn’t think twice before hotwiring it.

He thinks of Q’s smile just before they were hit and speeds up beyond what could possibly be considered safe. He thinks maybe he can hear Q’s voce in his ear scolding him, telling him to slow down, but ignores it in favour of the burning sensation he thinks he can feel over his soulmark.

They’re not going to get his Quartermaster. He’ll make sure of it. Or die trying.


	6. Chapter 6

Q feels himself being pulled into consciousness by the constant throbbing pain in his head, the strained muscles in his neck, and the sharp twists in his stomach. He keeps his closed as he gains more awareness, knowing without needing to test that any light would make his headache worse. 

He must have some semblance of sense left, because he makes the mental note that he’s experiencing all the symptoms of a concussion and bites his lips to keep from groaning at the constant pain.

“I see we are awake.” Says a man with an American accent, maybe two feet to his right.

“I’d rather not be, if it were all the same.” Q says, forcing himself to open his eyes, not bothering to hide his wince of pain. No point pretending to be tough.

He raises his head and tries to look around, but the first person he sees causes him to freeze. 

Across from him sits Gary Venner, bound tightly to a chair wired with multiple explosives.

“Count yourself lucky that you’re still alive, my friend.” The man is laughing now as he steps into Q’s view. “This will be fun for you, I’m sure.”

“I doubt that.” Q spits out. The man is tall, his bulk hid beneath the loose sweater and track pants he’s wearing. Close-cropped blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smirk that reminds him too much of a double-oh agent. 

Q closes his eyes and lets out a breath, he needs to focus right now, and any thought of 007 is only going to be distracting.

“Ah, my dear Q.” the man walks a little closer and bends down so he’s at eye-level with Q. One his hands grips Q’s hair tightly, forcing the quartermaster to open his eyes. During his time at MI6, Q has seen his fair share of unhinged lunatics, but the experience of reviewing interrogation tapes pales in comparison to staring one directly in the eyes. 

Q closes his eyes again, he thinks it’s ridiculous how he could have thought this man was similar to 007. Q had seen Bond in many situations, but he had never seen Bond look cruel.

“Keep your eyes open, my dear.” The man hisses next to Q’s ear, his statement punctuated by a sharp tug on Q’s hair, “You need to see this.” He forcefully turns Q’s head, and for the first time Q notices there’s a camera to his right. In front of it is a table with a laptop that has too many wires coming out of it and hooked up to the explosives on Venner.

“I’m going to let you go in a minute.” The man says, barely hiding his mirth, “That door there will be open for three minutes, there’s a jeep outside with the key in the ignition.”

Q freezes, the false generosity grating on his nerve.

“Of course, once the timer hits zero on the those three minutes, I’m afraid the our dear agent here will not be faring so well.” The man runs his hand through Q’s hair almost gently, and Q feels his stomach turn violently in a way that has nothing to do with his concussion. “You’ll have enough time to hack your way through that, I’m sure. But once those doors close, don’t expect them to open again.”

Q tries to focus despite the pain, he’s a senior official at MI6, he knows protocol. In a hostage situation he is supposed to try and get himself out of danger, he is too great a resource for MI6 and while agents are replaceable, Quartermasters are harder to find.

His lips sets into a thin line once his decision is made. In truth, it’s no decision at all, there was really only one choice here.

He feels the binds around his arms and legs slip, and gets up as fast as his body allows him. He tries not to look at Venner, it would only add unnecessary distraction. Venner is an agent, he should understand these things.

He walks over to the laptop, hunches over the desk, and tries to ignore the muffled sounds of protest coming from the tied down agent. 

There’s no visible countdown, but that doesn’t mean the man is bluffing. Q keeps a silent count in his head, the slowly climbing numbers acting almost as a mantra to ground him. He has until 180, he’s at 61, 62, 63…

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” The man suddenly says, and Q does his best to block out whatever he’s trying to say. There’s going to be nothing useful, all this is just a distraction. 

“You’re the first one, of course.” The man continues with glee, “Moneypenny is next, I wonder how that doctor of hers will do performing surgery under a timer. Do you think he would enjoy watching her bleed out on his operating table?”

85, 86, 87… Q doesn’t slow down, but his heart rate picks up and he can feel a lump forming in his throat.

“Tanner will the last.” The man cackles, “I hear his wife is in the hospital now. He’s always so calm, isn’t he? Well, we’ll see if we can’t find a couple of ways to make him squirm.”

103, 104, 105… Q falters for a moment in his typing, his eyes blurring as a wave of pain radiates from his head. Ignore him, Q tells himself.

“Mhmmm…” The man hums to himself, “I’m getting reports that there’s an agent here for you and he’s on a warpath. How interesting. Were you having a little affair on the side? Was poor Gary here not quite adequate as a soulmate?”

Q bites his lip to prevent himself from saying that Venner isn’t his soulmate. Bond is here. He doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. For him to have been taken, Bond must have been hurt quite badly.

“He’s probably going to get himself killed trying to get to you.” The man is suddenly next to Q, whispering in his ear. Q grits his teeth and continues coding. He’s close to breaking through. 137, 138, 139.

“Pity I won’t be here to see it.” The man starts walking away, “I’m sure we’ll see each other real soon, my lovely Q. Say hi to Mallory for me. Tell him I miss him.”

Q doesn’t slow down to look up, he thinks he can hear gunshots now, but tries not to think too hard about who’s doing the shooting. A moment later he can no longer heel the man’s footsteps walking away.

“Q.” Bond’s voice wraps around him like a security blanket, and for a second Q wants to let himself sink into it. But he knows he can’t, not yet. 

“How long?” To Bond’s credit, he seems to read the situation pretty well. The question isn’t directly at him, and Q spares a quick glance up to see that Bond has removed Venner’s gag in what he could only assume is a careful manner.

“Three minutes.” Venner gasps, “30 seconds left.”

“Venner -” Bond starts, but stops and looks back at Q.

“You should get him out.” Venner says, “Follow protocol. I don’t know how large the blast radius is going to be, you both need to get out.”

“Not yet.” Q manages to bite out then tunes out the rest of the conversation. 162, 163, 164...

He can feel Bond’s hand on his arm, not pulling him away yet but getting ready to snatch him out of danger. Q wants to tell Bond that he should at least get out, no reason for all three of them to die here if anything goes wrong, but the words seem stuck in his throat.

He hits return and closes his eyes. 178, 179, 180.

He opens his eyes again five more seconds of counting, shoulders sagging with relief. Bond squeezes his arm once, then goes and unties Venner. Q decides he’s better off kneeling on the floor before his legs give out under him.

He closes his eyes as another wave of pain and nausea hits him. Definitely a concussion then. In half delirium he wonders if he could still take up Google on that developer position he had been offered. He thinks about putting “prevented agent from exploding while concussed” on his resume and laughs.

Except the laughing hurts, so he stops. He feels arms around him, pulling him up. He knows without looking that it’s Bond, can smell the faint scent of agent’s aftershave mixed with gunpowder and sweat, and lets himself lean into the agent.

“Perimeter is secure, MI6 has been contacted.” Bond’s chest rumbles as he speaks, his voice sounds far away and Q feels himself slipping into the enticing pain free world of unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude of sorts before we get back to the meat of the plot.

Sometimes, the best part of Q’s day is waking up in the morning. He likes the relaxed state of being half awake, the moments before he opens his eyes but when he can feel the gentle caress of sunlight that streams in through his curtains. In those moments he can imagine that his soulmate is lying next to him, that he doesn’t have to deal with another security threat or system failure at MI6 but can instead wake up and go through his day at a leisurely pace with his partner. They might have breakfast together before heading out to that bookstore he likes so much. Maybe they'd stop by and pick up some pastries on the way and he could spend the afternoon coding and finishing up his projects while cuddling with his soulmate on the couch, sipping on earl grey.

Some days, he even lets himself believe it before opening his eyes and getting himself out of the warm cocoon of his duvet.

Today is one of those days that he allows himself to indulge. He must have had another long night at MI6, he can feel his headache throbbing in sync with his heartbeat. His mouth feels dry and his tongue seems to be permanently glued to the roof of his mouth. Q groans quietly, he needs to remember not to go drinking with Eve anymore.

He tries to open his eyes, but closes them again quickly as the usual soft sunlight turns into a harsh, bright light that brings sharp flash of pain. He raises his hand and covers his eyes, making a feeble attempt at shielding himself.

Even with his eyes closed, he feels the lights dim and he blinks in surprise. Perhaps he’s still dreaming?

Q lowers his hand and looks around blearily, registering too slowly that he’s in fact lying in the infirmary in MI6. He turns his head slightly, wincing at the pain, and sees Bond standing next to the light switch.

“So, not a good date with Venner?” Q rasps.

Bond takes two steps and is across the room, he holds a plastic cup filled with water to Q, and the quartermaster gratefully takes a couple of sips.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Bond asks, his voice is tinged with something foreign that Q can’t recognize.

“Dinner at a pub. Then…” Q trails off, his brain hurts when he tries to think too hard, “Did you - Were you driving me somewhere? There was a jeep?”

“Well, you’ve managed to remember all the important bits, M will be pleased.” Bond says dryly as he sits down next to Q.

Q blinks at the agent in confusion, he knows he’s missing blocks of time from his memory, but there doesn’t seem to be a sense of urgency from Bond, so he feels like maybe he doesn’t need to be worried.

“It’s ok, rest.” Bond gives Q a tight smile, “Venner already gave a debrief. The doctors said you have a concussion.”

“Probably because you’re a terrible driver.” Q mutters, but he closes his eyes even as he’s saying it, feeling himself being once again pulled into unconsciousness.

He feels a hand cover his and sighs in comfort.

 

The next time he wakes, the light doesn’t seem to hurt him as much. There’s a doctor standing over him, looking over a chart. Q decides the doctor’s not bad when she doesn’t try to stop him from sitting up.

“How are we feeling?” She asks as she makes notes in her chart.

“Fine.” Q says. He feels close enough to fine that it shouldn’t count as a lie.

The doctor gives him a stern look and shakes her head slightly, but doesn’t say anything.

“Can I go?” Q decides to try his luck.

“What do you think?” She asks as she sets down her chart, “You’re recovering from a concussion and two fractured ribs.”

“You’ve let people out of here with worse, surely.” Q says, thinking of some of the stattes taht the agents are in when they go in for debriefs.

“It’s different when I can’t physically stop them.” The doctor sniffs haughtily. “You though, a strong wind could knock you over. So don’t even think about it. You’re staying in this bed until I discharge you.”

“That hardly seems fair.” Q mutters, he runs a hand through his hair out of habit is is disgruntled to find bandages around his head. Now that he’s noticed them, they seem to be starting to get itchy. Q resists the urge to scratch.

“Perhaps.” She glares at him, “But as a fellow department head, you must understand how satisfying it is to actually exercise control over your domain.”

Q hums in agreement, it’s no secret that medical is often complaining to M about the lack of control they have other the field agents, and it’s not hard for him to imagine how frustrating it must be to be the head of that department. Not that Q branch was any better, it was a miracle if they could get agents to return even 50% of their equipment.

“If it makes you feel better,” Q says, pitching his voice softer in a blatant attempt to gain sympathy, “They don’t ever listen to me either.”

“The longest that James Bond has been in medical was when he was sitting with you after you were brought in.” She replies drily, shooting him a look that stated clearly she believed none of the things he’s saying, “So forgive me, quartermaster, but I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder to convince me that the agents don’t listen to you.”

“Well they don’t.” Q rolls his eyes but for some reason can’t stop a smile from forming on his face. Must be the painkillers getting to him. He schools his expression into what he thinks is a neutral one relatively quickly, “Can I at least have my phone? I’ll be bored out of my mind if I just lie here with nothing to do.”

“No screens.” She says decisively, “Concussion.”

Before Q can make his rebuttal, the door gets pushed open and M walks in, followed closely by Bond.

Q lets out a sigh of relief the same time the doctor’s frown deepens.

“Dr. Anand,” M nods the the woman now openly glaring at both him and Bond, “I need a debrief from Q.”

“Which he can do from here.” She hisses.

“I’m afraid he’s needed in Q branch after that.” M says, “I understand that this is not an ideal situation -”

“Not ideal?” The doctor interrupts, gesturing wildly as she speaks, “Not ideal is 007 barging in and demand the soulmate confirmation test to be moved up to priority one and threatening my lab tech. This is so far from not ideal M, this is verging into the Dr.Anand is about to resign her post territory.”

“If I may, doctor,” Bond drawls lazily as he walks towards Q’s bed, “Perhaps this is a discussion better saved for when MI6 is not under attack.”

Q eagerly takes Bond’s extended arm and starts scooting out of bed, he doesn’t look at Dr.Anand, keeping his gaze lowered. Maybe if he doesn't draw too much attention to himself, her ire will be solely focused on M and Bond.

“He cannot be looking at screens right now, he’s got a concussion.” Dr.Anand puts a hand on Q’s shoulder, and Q startles as Bond all but growls at her.

“Just because you are his soulmate does not mean you get to decide what is best for him.” Dr.Anand hisses.

“My what?” Q does look up at that, and instinctively moves back as Bond takes a deliberate step towards the doctor.

“Did it not occur to you, doctor -” Bond pauses and takes a deep breath, “perhaps that was a piece of news I would have liked to break to him?”

“Hang on a second -” Q grips Bond’s arm, but agent doesn’t seem to react, still glaring coldly at the doctor.

“Did it not occur to you, agent -” Q has to applaud the doctor for having the courage to take a step forward into Bond’s personal space when really any sane person can see that the logical move at the moment is to take a step bafck, “perhaps I would for once like to be able to treat my patient properly?”

“Bond -” Q starts again, pulling now at the agent’s arm. 

“Enough.” M cuts in. The man looks bone tired and is rubbing the bridge of his nose now, resolutely not looking at anybody else in the room, “Dr.Anand, I think we can all recognize that this is extraneous circumstances. I apologize for stealing your patient, but we will send him back to medical for regular check ups. After the crisis has been resolved, I promise I will sit the agents down and have a conversation with them about respecting medical.”

Dr.Anand takes a step back but doesn’t say anything. She frowns and then turns away, looking out the window instead of at M.

“Bond -” M starts but interrupts himself with a sigh, “Kindly bring Q to my office and don’t piss off any more of my department heads while you’re on the way.”

“Yes sir.” Bond says, his tone still frozen over with ice.

Q lets Bond help him out of the bed and walks out gingerly. He’s wearing his spare change of clothes that he keeps at the office, and he wonders for a brief second who remembered to grab those for him instead of giving him the medical gowns that he hates so much.

He probably should Dr.Anand some flowers as an apology later.

He should perhaps not put most of his weight on Bond and actually walk by himself, but the agent is a warm presence next to him and it’s hard to pull away.

He wonders how Q branch is doing. Wonders what attack Bond is talking about. Wonders if M is ok. Wonders if the pain is actually subsiding or he’s just getting used to it. Wonders if he can still code effectively with painkillers in his system.

Wonders if Bond is his soulmate.

“So uh - “ Q falters as they walk down the corridor. He’s not an idiot, M is clearly giving them a moment to talk before having to go into the debrief. He’s not going to waste the opportunity.

“Test results came back and we’re a match.” Bond says tersely, “Fuck.”

“Oh.” Q stops in his steps. His heart does a strange flop at the news and the agent's angry tone. He’s surprised at how much he’s misread the relationship between the two of them.

“No Q - ,” Bond sighs, a frustrated look coming over his face, “I don’t mean to say ... what I mean is that I like it.”

“This might be the concussion, Bond,” Q bites his lips against the lump forming in his throat, it doesn’t help. “But you’re not making much sense.”

Bond gorans. He leans in before Q can form a response and kisses the quartermaster.

It’s warm and tender, not quite what Q expected yet somehow everything Q had imagined kissing a soulmate would be like.

Bond pulls back after a while and presses a kiss on Q’s forehead, “I’m glad you’re my soulmate. I’m sorry you didn’t hear it from me directly under better circumstances.”

“Mhm,” Q makes a noise that can probably be interpreted as agreement, “That was rather spectacularly unromantic."

Q feels immeasurably pleased when Bond laughs. One of his genuine ones where the corner of his eyes crinkle.

“My apologies, quartermaster,” Bond says as he pulls back to a respectable distance from Q. ‘I promise after this is all over I will romance your socks off.”

Q grimaces but proceeds to give Bond a soft smile. He’s seen the agent romance others in the field, it's a well practiced dance for Bond by now, and Q's stomach turns at the thought of the agent pulling the cliched moves on him. 

“A thousand terrible puns,” Bond leans in suddenly, whispering softly against Q’s ear, “Just for you, quartermaster.”

Q can’t help but burst out laughing at that.

Bond straightens and gives Q a fond look, “but first, we have a crisis to resolve.”

“Don’t we always.” Q says, still chuckling softly. The two being walking again, and Q doesn’t let himself feel guilty when he leans heavily on his agent the rest of the way.


	8. Chapter 8

Despite everything, Bond had trouble pulling himself back into focus as they entered into M’s office, Q’s presence was an ever-present distraction at his side. The quartermaster remains unsteady on his feet, and Bond feels himself tensing up everytime the boffin wavers.

That is not to mention the soft, warm presence of the younger man pressed up against his side.

Nonetheless, he is a professional and they are in a crisis, so he takes a deep breath and doesn’t frown at the sharp tang of antiseptics coming from Q. Instead, he forces his thoughts away from the quartermaster and forces himself to concentrate at the problems at hand.

M is sitting behind his desk reading over documents, he doesn’t look up when the two of them enter his office. Bond keeps a hand around Q as the younger man sits down gingerly, careful to not jostle any of his injuries, and runs his hand once through Q’s hair after the quartermaster is somewhat comfortably seated.

He himself settles in with much less difficulty, and begins staring at M with a look of endless patience.

“Venner has provided us with a debrief.” M looks up after another minute. He throws the file he was reading onto his desk and sighs, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. “So I won’t trouble you for another one unless there’s anything you think is vital. The man we want is Noah Williams, we’ve sent tactical to his known residences and obtained a number of his personal effects that includes a large number of hard-drives, as well as an impressive collection of guns and ammo.”

Bond frowns as Q leans in with interest at the mention of hard drives.

“We’ll need you to decrypt those.” M says, looking at Q. “The recent attacks suggest that he may have someone inside MI6 and I want only trusted eyes on this file.”

Bond watches as Q opens his mouth for a question, but think better of it and bites his lower lip instead. He can see confusion on Q’s face, and he’s sure it must match his own confusion at the influx of information.

“Venner had enough information to put this together?” Bond asks the question that’s on Q’s mind as well. “Are we sure that the intel is -”

“Venner described the man to me,” M interrupts, holding up a hand to stop Bond from talking, “And I put it together. Noah is -”

M stops himself for a second, visibly struggling to get the words out. “We are acquainted.” He finally says, carefully, as if testing out how the words sound.

“With all due respect, sir.” Q says, his voice quiet but crisp, “you cannot afford to be holding back information at this junction.”

The look on M’s face has Bond worried for a moment that Q has somehow managed to break the other man. M looked as if he wanted to both eviscerate Q and beg for his forgiveness at the same time. While this is a sentiment that Bond himself has found himself having for the boffin the past, it was worrying to see the expression on the face of the head of MI6.

He was about to interject when M slumps back into his chair, a hand comes up and covers his eyes. Bond frowns, this is not the M to whom he had entrusted this office. The man sitting in front of them looks so defeated that Bond is about to open his mouth to offer some kind of platitude.

“Sir.” Q says, his voice like steel.

Somehow the one word seems to be all that was needed to get M back in the game, and Bond absently wonders if maybe Q is as good at cracking open people as he at cracking encryptions.

“Noah Williams is my soulmate.” M says, he sits up straighter as if bracing himself, his expression morphing into one of regret, “I - “ M pauses again, unsure of himself, “He feels that I have wronged him. This is personal matter that has gotten out of hand.”

“How did you … wrong him?” Bond asks. He’s certain that there are a number of people in his past who would no doubt think that’s he’s wronged them and yet none of them has ever attacked three high-ranking officers in MI6 in a single night, much less manage to kidnap one.

“We did not meet under the best circumstances.” M sighs, he stands up, and despite doing so slowly does not prevent Bond from tensing up. M removes his suit jacket and rolls up his shirt sleeve. There’s a line of script on his forearm, and Bond has to tilt his head slightly to read it. 

Q reads it out in barely a whisper, but it’s loud enough for Bond to hear, “When I get out, I will burn this place down.” 

The script is messy, with sharp corners and wild loops that makes Bond wonder if anybody could be so angry by nature. M sits down, but doesn’t cover his soulmark. 

“We met when I was sent to interrogate him.” M says, his voice faraway, “As you can imagine, it didn’t turn out very well.”

“He’s an arms dealer.” M starts again after a second, “Was? I confess I have no idea what he’s been up to. He was supplying the IRA when we caught him. But of course he had some kind of ties in the US that got him transferred back. Escaped after a week of landing in New York.”

“Have you been in contact with him?” Bond asks.

“I -” M stops himself again. He looks at Bond and frowns, “What? You think I’m working with him?”

“No, I asked if you were in contact.” Bond asked again, “You had a list of his known residences, if he’s a fugitive, I doubt he would be renting under his own name and so you couldn’t have pulled it from the system.”

“My loyalty to MI6 -”

“Is not being questioned.” Q finishes the sentence before M could get any more worked up, “But it would be useful to know what exactly we’re dealing with here, and some history would help.”

“He’s sent me messages.” M says, slumping back once again in his chair, “I never responded, but -”

“But you never reported it either.” Bond finishes for him. He can feel the start of a headache at the base of his neck, quietly threatening to take over his mind. He resists the urge to rub his temples. What a mess.

Bond looks over to Q. He had expected the other man to feel as as disturbed as he was at the revelation, but was not expecting to see the expression of sympathy flitting across the quartermaster’s face before being replaced by a more determined look.

“Do you know where he might be right now?” Q asks, his voice is softer than it was a moment ago and Bond sees M visibly relax.

“No, I haven't heard anything from him for about three months. I thought he had…” M pauses, shaking his head, “I thought he had given up.”

“Given up on you?” Q asks softly.

“He wanted me to leave with him.” M breathes out so quietly that Bond has to lean in to hear clearly, “He told me he would stop the arms dealing and we could find somewhere where we could spend the rest of -” 

M stops abruptly, looking pained. He turns his head and looks away from both Bond and Q, lips pressed into a thin line.

“He wasn’t attacking the department head.” Bond suddenly says, puzzles clicking into place in his mind.. “He was after their soulmates.”

“We had assumed that those attacks were meant for Moneypenny and Tanner and got their partners by mistakes. But I believe he was going after their soulmates the whole time.” Bond elaborates, the silence in the room so thick that he can almost feel it wrap around him. “He’s trying to inflict pain to the people who work with you, because he think they’re the ones keeping you from him.”

More silence greets Bond, he feels himself growing restless. “He told Q that he would continue to go after Moneypenny and Tanner.”

“He went after Venner because he thought we were soulmates.”: Q mutters.

“This would have been over by now if he had gone after me.” Bond spits out, the restlessness growing.

“That’s hardly relevant now.” Q hisses and throws a meaningful glance at M, who has still not turned back to the two of them.

“I know where he is.” M sighs. “When we first brought him in for interrogation, it had to be off the books of MI5. There’s an old building that used to be a part of Holloway, they’ve abandoned the location after it shut down, but it used to be an interrogation spot for MI5.”

“Holloway?” Bond asks, the name sounds vaguely familiar, but he can’t quite place the details.

“The prison?” Q asks. 

At M’s nod Bond stands up from his chair, “I’ll pay the place a visit.”

“After I pull some surveillance.” Q snaps in his quartermaster voice, “Stand down, 007.”

“Q, work as 007 approaches. Bond, take some back up with you. Noah -” M pauses again, his expression crumbling as he comes close to losing his authoritative tone at the name, but he recovers well enough, “Williams is dangerous and armed. I will not have anybody else hurt for this.”

“Understood.” Bond nods. For a second it looks as if Q was going to argue, but the quartermaster nods sharply once and stands up from his seat as well. They exit M’s office together, and Bond stops for a moment outside the door to let Q lean into him. It’s not quite a hug, but Bond’s arm is around Q and the quartermaster is pressed into his side tightly. Bond pretends he doesn’t notice the way the younger man is shaking slightly.

“Do try to return unscathed, 007.” Q murmurs, resolutely staring at the floorboard in front of him.

“Always, quartermaster.” Bond says. He pressed a kiss on Q’s temple before he could stop himself, and knows he made the right decision when the he feels the other man relax marginally.

“Come then, there are some toys in Q branch waiting for you to mistreat.’ Q says after a moment, straightening up and taking a step towards Q branch. Bond follows without another word and tries not think about how lucky he is that his soulmate fights for the same side as he does.


	9. Chapter 9

In addition to enjoying his actual job, there are a number of perks that Q is rather fond of which comes with the position of Quartermaster of MI6. For instance, he likes that he gets a 40% government discount when he travels, he likes the additional insurance coverage he gets for dental and vision, and he enjoys the occasional MI6-sanctioned hacking of other governments. 

The thing he does not like is sending his agents into a situation blind. 

He hears the sound of traffic coming through the earpiece, and absentmindedly makes a note that he should update the background noise filtering AI he’s put into the software. The traffic cameras occasionally catch a glimpse of Bond’s car speeding down the street, but the agent is driving too fast and too recklessly for the cameras to properly keep track of, so Q is relying on the embedded GPS system.

He doesn’t like that Bond is a flashing red dot on an abstract map of London. He would much rather have eyes on the man himself. But given Bond’s tendency to go offline, perhaps a red dot is better than having nothing at all.

“I’m blind.” Q sighs. He’s been trying to get eyes near the building for the last ten minutes but have gotten nowhere. The two cameras outside have been offline for the last two days and the facility was stripped of its internal security system when it was decommissioned. 

“Believe it or not Q, I am capable of carrying out a mission without your watchful eyes over me.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to like it.” Q mutters. His stands a little straighter as he hears the engine of Bond’s car turn off and the agent exiting the vehicle. Across various channels on his earpiece he hears the voices of the agents on location coordinating their entry.

“Don’t worry, he’s not getting away this time.”

“I’m really more worried about my agents than him getting away.” Q replies. He keeps his mic on Bond’s channel but keeps an ear out for other agents on location who might need him. He tells himself he’s not playing favorites, he’s keeping a strategic overview of MI6’s most valued asset. 

“No vehicles parked outside, no visible lights.” Bond murmurs. Q hears the sounds of a door creaking open, and winces at how loud it sounds even through the earpiece.

“Well, if he’s in there he probably knows we’re here now.” Bond says. Q notices that the ambient noise of traffic has dropped, and surmises that the agents are inside the building.

“I’m looking at a blueprint of the building.” Q conveys as he studies the schematics, “A couple of possible spots for him to be, I’d try to warden’s room first. Second floor, north-west corner. Seems to have a clear view of everything on the first floor. Single point of entry, easily defensible.”

“Too walled-in.” Bond says after a beat, “He wouldn’t want to corner himself. He knows he’ll be outnumbered, no good doing our work for us.”

“Guards’ breakroom. Second floor south-west corner.” Q looks over the blueprint again, “I wish I could -”

Gunshots interrupt him before he could finish his sentence. Q’s fingernails dig deep into his palms as he stands helplessly still inside MI6 headquarters. His agents have all gone quiet as the shots started firing, no doubt to keep from giving away their location. He hears Bond’s breathing pick up, hears the sound of running. More shots. Somewhere on the line a muffled groan and Q goes ahead and orders med-evac to standby.

For a while it seems as if the shooting would never stop. All Q hears is the rapid gunfire and the sound of bullet hitting metal, ricocheting off walls and floors.

Then all of sudden, nothing but the sound of breathing.

“Target eliminated.” Bond voice carries crisply over the earpiece. “Two non-critical injuries, sending them to medical now. I’ll have someone stand-by for containment.”

“Well done.” Q says. He types out a message to M informing him of the mission conclusion and at the same time switches the comms to one of his underlings for coordination with containment and medical.

“Coming home, signing off now.” Q hears Bond declare before the line gets cut completely. He leans back from the workstation with a sigh, suddenly feeling tired and dizzy. He closes his eyes briefly, thinking he would only rest for a moment before reporting to M in person.

 

 

 

Q wakes up in medical to the sound of morse code in pen clicks. Dash-dash-dot-dash. Pause. Dash-dash-dot-dash. Pause.

“I’m not sure that counts as effective communication anymore.” Q mutters. He keeps his eyes closed as opening them seem to require herculean effort. 

“You know, when I imagined our relationship, I had thought there would be much more of you sitting at my bedside waiting for me to recover.” Bond says drily, “And not so much me doing that for you.”

“I’m flattered you imagined our relationship 007.” Q evades. He accepts the inevitable and focuses his energy on opening his eyes. His vision clears after a couple of seconds and he realizes that Bond has gently placed his glasses on his face. “Thank you.”

“Dr. Anand is after my blood, I’ll have you know.” Bond runs a hand gently through Q’s hair, “Took me citing all the provisions about soulmate privileges to be allowed to stay here.”

“I can’t bring myself to believe that you have any knowledge of any MI6 protocols, given your flagrant disregard of them during your missions.”

“Surely there must be one specifying injured quartermasters shouldn’t vex their soulmates.”

“Presumably.” Q grins despite the twinge of pain it sends through his head.

Too many things still need to be done. They need to have a discussion with M about the whole thing. Him and Bond need to talk this whole soulmate business and what they want to do. Associates of Williams needs to be identified and properly taken care of.

For the moment though, Q allows himself to relax as much as he can in the standard medical cots. Bond was there unharmed, there seems to not be any immediate threats to MI6, and despite the harrowing experience of the last 24 hours, Q’s somehow came out of the ordeal with a soulmate. 

“Okay?” Bond asks.

“Mhm, quite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay and the very short update. I'm just getting back into the groove of writing, hopefully updates will be more regular.


	10. Chapter 10

Q spends an inordinate amount of time in medical, being poked and prodded by a displeased Dr.Anand who seemed to think it was somehow Q who had orchestrated the entire episode that led to him being temporarily released from her care. 

Bond is called away to debrief M after the first ten minutes, and Q quietly seethes as the doctor walks around him, tutting all the while.

After the third hour, it seems even the ever so determined Dr. Anand has run out of tests to perform, and she grudgingly admits that there are limited benefits to Q recovering in Medical when he could go and recover at home in a more comfortable surrounding. She makes him promise to call medical if anything happens and to take all his antibiotics. She stresses twice that he should limit his use of painkillers to only when necessary and gives him a list of food that he should stay away from. 

Q nods all the while, the perfect image of an attentative patient trying to soak in as much infomration as the doctor is willing to give. 

The doors open just as Dr.Anand starts to talk about what exactly Q is not allowed to do. She turns to the door ready to throw out whoever is walking in, but whatever she was about to say only gets turned into a glare.

007 flashes her one of his most charming smiles, and Q is surprised but at the same time not surprised to see the glare soften. 

"I have orders to escort the quatermaster home." 007 says with a deferential tilt of his head, "with your permission, of course."

"Just as well." Dr. Anand gestures to where Q is lying on the cot, "I've cleared him to recover at home for the next couple of days. I was going to call one of the field agents to get him home, but I suppose you're a better candidate."

"Indeed." Bond says. Q wonders if Dr. Anand catches the cold edge to the agent's voice. He adds 'possessive' to the list of traits he's filed under 007.

"No strenous activity for the next three days. We can re-evaluate based on your recovery after that." Dr. Anand tells Q, though she shoots a meaningful look at Bond. "That means you, agent."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Bond says smoothly, though he shoots Q a wink the second the doctor turns her back on him.

Q sighs, and closes his eyes to count to five. He opens them and blinks owlishly at the doctor, even taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "Dr. Anand, I know have a lot of instructions, but maybe you could give those to Bond? It's only that - I'm getting a bit tired and..."

"Of course." The doctor acquieses easily, "I'll see you back here in three days, but call me directly if you feel unwell before that."

"I'll make sure he does." Bondf cuts in before the doctor can say anything more and slips past the doctor to move to Q.

"I can bring a wheelchair - " Dr.Anand starts, but stops as Bond picks up Q and carries him as if the quartermaster weighs nothing.

"That would be great."

"That won't be necessary." 

Q and Bond speak at the same time. The doctor looks between them and frowns.

"I've got him from here." Bond says. Q humphs, but otherwise doesn't protest too much. He is starting to get tired again, and 007's presence is warm and comforting, a welcome change compared to the cot in Medical. 

"Key's in my coat." Q murmurs as he closes his eyes. 

 

 

When he wakes next, he's lying in his own bed. He puts on his glasses and turns his head to see Bond lying next to him and watching him in the dark.

"Creepy." Q mutters. 

"Go back to sleep, it's night." Bond says. The agent reaches out with one hand and runs his fingers through Q's hair gently, taking care to avoid any painful spots, "You're ok with me here?"

"I have to say, when I imagined 007 in my bed I had thought we would do more than just sleep." Q says drily. But already he can feel the pull of drowsiness on him. He shifts marginally closer to 007 and Bond takes the cue to move in a bit more, radiating warmth like a heater.

"Plenty of time for that later." Q hears. He falls asleep to Bond's fingers running through his hair. 

 

 

In the morning he wakes up to the unmistakeable smell of fresh-baked bread and earl grey. He shuffles slowly out of his bedroom until he's got a good view of the kitchen, where Bond is moving with all the efficency of a trained killer, preparing breakfast.

"Smells good." He says after taking a moment to wonder at his life, "I didn't know I had eggs in the fridge."

"You didn't" Bond replies as he continues to stir the scramble, "But Moneypenny was kind enough to coordinate a grocery deliver."

"I'm running low on milk. DId you -" Q walks shuffles closer to where Bond is standing, intent on opening the fridging to check on its contents. He's cut off suddenly as Bond moves with incredible speed, the agent at arm's length in one moment and pressed against him in the next. 

Bond is kissing him, Q realizes a beat too late.

There's an urgency in the kiss that hadn't been there before, a more insistent pressure than last time. 

It ended too soon, with Q again only catching on a beat too late.

"Sorry, couldn't resist." Bond says. He's grinning in a way that's not sorry at all and looking over the quartermaster carefully. He steps back once he's satisfied the quartermaster is no worse off and turns back to the eggs.

"What happened to romancing me? I'm expecting a thousand terrible puns." Q says, he feels a little shaky, not sure how exactly to react to the kiss, or the sudden lack thereof.

"I like to play with eggspectations," Bond says, shooting Q a look as he plates the eggs and butters slices of bread.

"You crack me up." Q says, grinning. 

Bond kisses Q again. A brief press of lips that doesn't turn into anything more involved as he's holding two plates of food, but whether it's the joke or the kiss, somehow Q feels a bit more on even ground. 

Bond sets up breakfast for them in Q's rarely used dining room. Q manages to give a brief treatise on the merits of fresh-baked bread and how he misses the simple joy it brings. Bond listens and nods and then promises Q fresh bread everyday that they have breakfast together.

"Clever, offering me bribes to keep you around?" Q asks, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Consider it a bonus, quartermaster." Bond drawls lazily. He leans back in his seat and takes a sip of his tea, "An extra incentive for keeping an old dog around past its expiration."

"I like old dogs." Q goes for levity, misses the mark completely and ends up with total earnesty instead. 

Bond's smile is brief and Q is thankful that he's well-versed in double-oh body language that he easily spots the warmth that takes over Bond's face. 

He takes his medicine after breakfast, chased down by a fresh cup of tea and another languid kiss from Bond. 

Bond goes into MI6 after breakfast, there is too much to do after the security breach for him to simply play babysitter to the quatermaster. Q watches Bond walk to the car from his window and doesn't take turn away until the car has driven beyond his line of sight. 

Without 007, his home suddenly feels a little too empty. Q frowns at the thought. IT's too early in their relationship for him to be feeling this attached. It would perhaps be more acceptable if it were anybody else, but with 007 attachment seems a dangerous path to go down, soulmate or not. Looking around the now empty living room, he sighs and shuffles slowly into his home office with a plan to do some light work to distract himself from the unwelcomed line of thought.

Afterall, code is much easier to understand than emotions. Problems with the code can always be solved without the danger of too much introversion. He distracts himself well enough that for the rest of the day, his sole focus remains on the screen in front of him, chasing after increasingly more complex problems to prevent his thoughts from turning to thoughts about a certain double-oh agent.


End file.
